


a hundred last chances

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: under 1k fic [29]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Arguing, First Kiss, Hotel Life, M/M, POV First Person, POV Mark, damien still has his ability, not entirely canon compliant, yes i made them soft and you cant stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: He wants me to like him and I want to make him the enemy but goddamn if we aren't both careening out of control.





	a hundred last chances

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All of You](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/353133) by Betty Who. 



 

Anger is a dish we lick our fingers clean after eating. We never know who is devouring who but it makes the blood pump, the secrets quake, the mouth burn white hot. We don't want it but we want to stay together. We’ve been too long without a reason to scream and this room is our sounding board.

We want to be heard but we don't mean what we say.

I don't hate him. I just want to understand him. It's frustrating for both of us.

When I yell, "I _can't_ leave because you don't want me to," it blazes through my teeth in such an ugly way.

His angry isn't hot though, is it? It's the wind blowing through the frame of a bare apartment and shadows that freeze when you come closer. It's sharp and _lonely._ It's the absence of a heartbeat. 

He _has_ a heart but it's boarded up and muffled. I can feel the splinters when my hand touches a wrinkle on his shirt. I understand, I get it now.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I'm sorry, can I-"

I'm angry for the right and wrong reasons but it's warm now. My red to his blue, not quite fire and ice. He nods and we sit on the edge of a borrowed bed, his hand callused and cradled between mine. He wants me to like him and I want to make him the enemy but goddamn if we aren't both careening out of control.

He squeezes my hand and the fundamentals of loving the hate and hating the love become vines that trap us. It's complicated.

I thumb away his frown lines and tell him he should smile more. He's got such a dangerous mouth but it's so beautiful when he laughs. I almost forget how much damage it can do. It's bark and bite in one pretty package.

"Give me a reason," he says.

So I kiss him.

We don't rush through it. It's the kind of kiss you turn the phone off for and lock the door. A kiss you sink into and  _fall in love with._

When we stop to catch our breath, my hands are in his hair and his jacket's on the floor. Our eyes meet and he's worried. This is more than we bargained for. It's anger and passion, love and brutal honesty. I'm worried too, but not enough.

"It's not just you," I say. "I want us." It's longing on a level I swear we must've invented in this room.

He smiles and we're a fucking mess together but it's beautiful. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i said i'd stop writing them but here i am writing soft trash


End file.
